The Brightest Affliction
by WellTravelledHalf
Summary: In the midst of a war against muggles Albus Severus Potter, former Unspeakable and member of a terrorist organisation, is flung into the Veil of Time and finds himself in 1986. With plans to be made and questions to be answered, Al will stop at nothing to pursue his goal. It's either us or them. SLASH.
1. Through the Veil

A/N: I have other stories to write. But they're on my other computer. Which is unfortunately across the ocean. So I'll just have to settle for starting another one. I'm not sure where this is going and the title doesn't really suit but we'll see how it goes.

* * *

Twenty-two year old Albus Severus Potter had a lot to live up to. He was the son of the famous Boy-Who-Lived and he carried the names of two of the most pivotal figures in the British Wizarding World.

When he was younger it had been difficult to come to terms with the legacy his predecessors had left behind. He was tormented by an overwhelming sense of mediocrity that he couldn't quite summon the ambition or motivation to leave behind. He was stuck in the shadows of these great figures. He was nothing like his siblings. He was nothing like his _parents_ even. His mother was fiery and passionate, his sister was much the same only more brilliant and sly- a Slytherin with the heart of Gryffindor. His father was untouchable and everyone sung praises about his brother. James Sirius Potter truly lived up to his namesake- he was charmingly mischievous, undeniably charismatic, a leader, Head Boy, and Gryffindor through and through. Albus was, well, he was Al; the quiet Ravenclaw who spent too much time wondering what on earth he was doing and what his purpose was. His parents always got along better with his siblings and he would be lying if he said that didn't make him the tiniest bit resentful.

It was until a year after graduation that he thought he found something that could possibly be his calling. And then the war started.

He was working in Ministry's historical department, hoping to enter Unspeakable training in a year's time, when he received word of the beginnings of the war in North America. The Statute of Secrecy had been broken. The American muggle Government had known about the existence of wizards for six months now. They were the reason American wizards had been going missing. All hell broke loose once a video of a religious group forcing a group of teenage wizards at gunpoint to perform magic was posted on the internet.

Three months later and the whole world was involved. It was chaos. Factions formed, treaties were made and broken, guerrilla warfare started on the streets. His father and his brother went straight to the front lines. Al's Unspeakable training was sped up and then he was thrown into time research because that was what the British Ministry thought they needed- more time to calm things down, more time to negotiate. People, including Al's family, held out that everything could be settled peaceful. Al knew better. The muggles outnumbered them by far. They had weapons that only needed a twitch of the finger or push of the button to work. Wizards still required elaborate hand movements or words to fight most of the time and no curse could equal the destruction of a nuclear warhead. The muggles could, and most likely _would,_ annihilate them.

So when Al was approached by a wizarding terrorist organisation dedicated to the decimation of the entire muggle population- he joined them. There he met the enigmatic Wyatt Sharif, the leader of the largest anti-muggle insurgent group: the Sons of Circe.

At first he worked as a spy in the Ministry then, when he was found out by his father, he fled to the group's camps in Greenland.

By the time Al was twenty-one a World War was underway. His father was in a magical coma, his mother had been tortured to death, his brother had died as he lived- in a blaze of fire and glory, and his sister- the only one of his relatives he still spoke to, was breaking under the stress of battle.

A month after his 22nd birthday they reached a breakthrough. While working alongside Sharif he found a portal in a dormant volcano in Iceland. The portal was not unlike the veil in the Department of Mysteries, except that instead of being a portal connected to death, this portal seemed to be connected to space and time. It was a veil between the present, the past, and the future. They barely had enough time to study the strange magical phenomena before the muggles descended upon them. In the heat of battle Al found himself flung through the portal. He could only watch through the distorted gateway as Sharif was cut down in gunfire and the arch he had fallen through came tumbling down.

When Albus regained consciousness he found himself blanketed in darkness and silence. The only indications he had that he was alive was the ache that shot through his whole body, the smell of sulphur, and the faint glow of the now fully intact gateway that he had just come through.


	2. Father of Mine

"Well 'ere you are, Mr Porter."

The newly created Albin Porter accepted the passport and documents from the shady looking man in front of him. He skimmed through the papers and once he was satisfied he handed the cash over to the man.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya," the man said with a toothy grin and slipped out of the alley.

Al rubbed the side of his head.

 _Now what,_ he thought.

After clambering his way out of the volcano in Iceland Al had trudged to the nearest town. He had been suffering from both physical and magical exhaustion but had no noteworthy injuries. It had been to his absolute horror, but not so much surprise, to find out he had gone back in time. The date, or what he assumed to be the date from the Icelandic newspapers he looked at, was August 23rd 1986. He had not been born yet. His father was six years old.

For a week he holed himself up in a barn on the outskirts of a tiny muggle fishing village. He stole everything he needed and, at the end of the week, all it took was a couple of _Confundus_ Charms and _Imperius_ Curses to get him a ticket to the UK. He wasn't above using Dark spells out of necessity- or even just because they were convenient, really. Most of the wizards he had worked with were self-proclaimed Dark wizards. He had been cautious at first but one day Sharif had taken him aside and explained to him the difference between Light and Dark. Dark was more chaotic- based on emotion and instinct, Light was order- less powerful but easily controlled. Dark didn't necessarily equate to evil but some Dark spells could and would harm your soul and sanity if not used with caution and preparation. What it boiled down to was the caster's self-control. It was about balance. To perform chaotic, emotional magic and not be permanently damaged required the suppression of one's own emotions, and understanding of one's self, which was why so few wizards managed to perform Dark magic without becoming irrevocably twisted.

Once he arrived in the UK he managed to get hold of someone who would make a fake passport, birth certificate, and adoption papers for him. That was as far as his plan stretched.

.

Al was sitting in a muggle bar that night, with his third pint of beer in front of him. He had yet to find a place to live and would probably sorely regret it if he got too drunk and woke up in a gutter somewhere. He needed to plan.

He had an alias now. Born in Birmingham on the 9th July 1964, during the early 1960s baby boom. His birth mother had left him at the steps of an orphanage shortly after his birth with only his first name. He was adopted when he was two years old by Benjamin and Marie Porter. Marie had been working in an orphanage when she saw a show of accidental magic by Albin. Her husband was a wizard and they had wanted children but had been unable to conceive. Benjamin had been reluctant to adopt a non-magical child. The situation was perfect. They moved to Australia when Albin was five, then to the US when he was ten. The US was a perfect place for his alias to grow up. There was no collective magical government to speak of but rather each state had a council of witches and wizards. There were two schools for magic which required enrolment, with the exception of muggleborns who were enrolled automatically. It was common to have parents teach their children magic. Albin's father taught him everything he knew. His father was a halfblood and his mother was a muggle. In America Albin's mother ran off with another man, prompting Albin's father to move the pair back to Europe. They moved to Germany when Albin was sixteen, just after the Wizarding War ended. He would have been too old to start attending Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. Albin's adopted father had died a year after the move in the latest dragon pox epidemic.

The constant moves would provide some leeway to his lack of documentation and living in Germany would allow him to explain his knowledge of the Old Ways of Europe. His fluency in German would also add a little validation to the claim.

Al sighed. He had a lot more to figure out.

"Rough night?" A voice asked him. It was a clichéd introduction and Al was tempted to be snarky and tell the man so but decided against it.

He turned to find a rather plain looking blond muggle had slid into the stool next to him. He hated blonds. They reminded him of Scorpius. Scorpius who hadn't been born yet. Scorpius who had told him not to contact him again shortly after they had graduated. Scorpius who, the last time Al had heard, was engaged to a _woman._

Al smiled at the man and the man's cheeks flushed a light pink. Well, at least he might not have to worry about a place to stay tonight.

.

The next morning Al let himself out of the small East London apartment he spent the night in and took a train to Surrey with the money he had nicked from the man's wallet. He hadn't taken much, largely due to the fact that the night had been enjoyable. Al didn't have anything personal against muggles, really. He just knew that in the competition of wizards vs. muggles, the muggles would win- and he couldn't let that happen. Magic, knowledge, and survival had been the single most important things in his life when he abandoned his friends and family to stand by Sharif. And if he had to kill every single muggle to ensure the survival of wizards and their magic then so be it. Even without Sharif here- because Merlin knew where that man could be at this point- that would still be Al's goal: the eradication of every muggle on earth. Now he just had to decide on how he was going to go about that. It certainly was a big task.

.

The weather was pleasant as he sat outside a café in a row of shops opposite Little Whinging's only primary school. He sipped on his coffee under a notice-me-not charm while he observed the students filing out of the school. After 20 minutes a tiny figure rounded the gates of the courtyard and began to amble along the footpath.

 _Merlin,_ Al thought with wonder, _was he once that small?_

It was his father- well, not his father _yet_ (or perhaps at all), at any rate, but Harry Potter. The boy was thin and pale- almost sickly looking. Nothing like the confident, tanned, imposing figure that Al knew.

What made Al frown was the boy's posture- meek and submissive, curled in on himself with his eyes cast down at the pavement. The baggy clothes he wore hung off him almost comically. Al knew his father had been mistreated by his relatives when he was younger but he didn't think it was _this_ bad. His dad had always referred to his life before Hogwarts dismissively, if at all.

The small boy continued to trudge along and Al had to make a decision. To interfere or not?

He could win his father's- _Harry's_ trust- and use it to get the wizarding world on his side. It certainly would make things easier when the muggles found out about them. But he would need to be careful, he would not only be going up against his namesake, Albus Dumbledore, but also the preconceived notions that the pureblood community had about muggleborns and magical creatures. They would most likely support Al's cause but for all the wrong reasons: superiority and the belief that muggleborns were somehow stealing their magic. The truth was, there was no such thing as a muggleborn. "Muggleborns" were the result of two squib lines meeting. And the "weakening magic" of purebloods in the British magical community was due to constant inbreeding more than anything. Honestly, Al thought, rolling his eyes, the other magical communities of the world had absolutely none of the genetic troubles that British purebloods had. And that was because they weren't afraid of having children with foreigners or magical creatures like werewolves. The British were awfully xenophobic.

But back to the topic at hand. Al watched as Harry's figure grew even smaller with distance. Yes, he would interfere. He would help his father's younger self. It would change the timeline but hopefully, just hopefully, certain events would play out the way they were suppose to.


	3. You're a Wizard, Harry

It was a month before Al came into contact with Harry. He had ventured into Diagon Alley and was perturbed by the absence of his father's statue in the middle of the street. It wasn't unwelcome. Al had just gotten used to seeing it during all the times he had gone to Diagon Alley to pick up his school things. He had opened a vault for himself under his alias. Thank goodness for goblin single-mindedness and neutrality. If you had gold there were no questions asked. The goblins weren't quite trusting enough to lend him money so he had to borrow galleons from one of the many loan sharks lurking about Knockturn Alley. To pay the wizards back he made a couple hefty bets on quidditch games. It was a good thing James had been a sports fan and that Al had a disturbingly accurate memory.

Once his bets had paid off and with his finances secured he rented a small room above a block of shops close to Harry's school. He managed to get a job in a secondhand bookstore that was in the same block.

The next part was the hardest: how to engineer a meeting with little Harry?

Thankfully, towards the end of October, the problem seemed to solve itself.

.

Al was arranging books on the shelves when he spotted an untidy mop of black hair through the shop window. He, too, had inherited the unruly Potter hair. But unlike his brother, Al had chosen to keep it short so it wouldn't be _too_ messy and so he wouldn't resemble his father even more.

He walked out of the shop and made a show of propping up the sign that leant against the shop front. Then he turned around to face the shrunken version of his father.

"Hello," Al said.

The boy looked up, startled. His green eyes were wide with caution.

"Hello," Harry said quietly.

He crouched down so he was eye-level with Harry. "What's a young man like yourself doing standing out here in the cold?"

Al made sure to smile in the way he knew Teddy and Victorie's children liked.

Harry grew shy, looking down and pulling on the threads of his large, worn sweater.

"I'm waiting for my aunt to finish having tea with her friend," he mumbled.

Al fought the urge to frown. His great aunt sounded horrid.

"Did she say you had to wait outside?" He continued kindly.

Harry shrugged. "She said I was to go busy myself for two hours and not make trouble."

Al hummed thoughtfully. "Well how about you come wait in the bookstore?"

Harry looked hesitant.

"You could look at some of the books while I work?" Al suggested.

Harry nodded and followed him in, looking shyly up at Al.

He wanted to laugh. He had no idea his father had been so _cute._

The next two hours were spent largely in silence. Al had told Harry his name- well, his alias' name, and had given Harry a sandwich to eat but otherwise left the boy in an armchair by the children's section.

"Harry," he called softly. The boy looked up at him.

"It's been two hours now. You might want to go look for your aunt before she thinks she's lost you."

The boy nodded and reluctantly put away his book.

"You can always come back and read any time." Al smiled.

Harry shot him a small grin and dashed out of the store.

.

The next visit was two weeks later and spent much the same way as the first. Over time the visits became more frequent, longer, and less silent. Harry would slip away on Saturdays, telling his relatives he was going to the park. Sometimes he would come by after school. Al knew the boy was becoming more comfortable around him.

"Al, why do we look so much alike?" The boy had asked one day.

Al looked up from his own book. He was wondering when the boy would pick up on their similarities. They could pass as brothers. The only difference was that Al's hair was a shade lighter- more of a very dark brown than black, his nose was ever so slightly upturned and he had a light spattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. But their eyes were exactly the same.

"I don't know," Al lied. "Perhaps we're long lost cousins?"

Harry frowned but something in his eyes lit up with such ferocity that Al felt surprised. The boy shook his head.

"I don't like that. Dudley's my cousin and I don't like him. I wouldn't want you to be my cousin. I would like it more if you were my brother."

The last part was said quietly and shyly. Harry's head was ducked down and he was tugging on the pages of his book.

"Long lost brothers, then," Al replied.

At this, Harry looked up and beamed. Al felt his heart twist uncomfortably. A little part of him missed his father- his _real_ one. Another little part of him felt overwhelmingly fond of this little boy who seemed to have the all the odds stacked against him.

.

A year passed quickly enough. When Al wasn't spending time with Harry he was making contacts in the wizarding world, investing in businesses he knew would gain in value, and researching Dark magic.

He had reached a dilemma in his planning- what should he do about Lord Voldemort? The man- or wraith- was currently wandering the forests of Albania, possessing animals and slowly gaining strength. He would return in to Britain in Harry's first year of Hogwarts and would gain a body in his fourth year. Al's two main options were: destroy Voldemort as soon as possible so he doesn't interfere, or let Voldemort regain his full strength and join him. They had more or less the same cause. The problem was that Voldemort had his own agenda and wouldn't be a follower. He, too, wanted to exterminate muggles but he wasn't afraid of going through muggleborns and purebloods alike if they stood against him. Al was definitely against that. They needed all the wizarding blood they could get in the war against muggles. Maybe, he thought, Dark and Light could unite if provided a common enemy? It was a thought, but it was unlikely- even when the war had been underway in Al's previous time there had been Dark and Light factions. The Light was just too damn stubborn and righteous. Although, that being said, he supposed he was being biased- he was a Dark Wizard, after all.

He couldn't embark on his crusade alone. He needed allies. He needed to find Sharif and he needed to ensure that the British wizarding community didn't destroy themselves with their passive policy of appeasing muggles. If worse came to worse and there was another war like the one back home- he needed to make sure that Britain, at least, would come out of it unscathed.

The front door jingled as Al was contemplating his course of action. Harry stepped in with a nervous look on his face and walked up to the counter.

"Hello, Harry. How was school?"

The boy looked nervous, almost in tears.

"What's wrong?" Al asked.

Harry shrugged.

He sighed inwardly and took Harry by the hand, leading him to two armchairs in the back of the room. He sat the boy down and went to fetch tea and biscuits for the both of them. Once they were comfortable and Harry had settled, Al continued his questioning.

"Now what's got you all worked up? Nothing bad's happened, has it?"

Harry picked at his sweater.

"I did something freaky at school today." He mumbled.

 _Freaky? Maybe accidental magic?_

"Freaky?" Al voiced his question.

Harry was silent for a while.

"Something unnatural," he responded after the silence.

"Something like magic?" Al asked cautiously.

The boy's head shot up. His eyes were wide and scared.

"I'm not suppose to say that word," he whispered.

"What did you do, Harry? It's alright, you can tell me these things. I won't be scared. You might even find that I understand exactly what you're talking about."

Harry stared back skeptically. "I was being chased by Dudley's gang," he started. "I- I don't know what happened. I was on the ground then I was on the roof of the refectory. I got in trouble for it and came here cause I knew Uncle Vernon would be angry."

Al slid down so he was crouched in front of Harry's chair. He took the boy's tiny hands into his own and looked him earnestly in the eyes.

"Harry, what you did wasn't bad. What you did was magic. And you should never, ever be embarrassed, ashamed or afraid of your powers. Magic is a wonderful thing. And those muggles, those non-magical people you live with, are the ones who should be ashamed of themselves."

The boy's eyes were wide and terrified. "Magic," he whispered.

"Yes, magic," Al replied. "Have you ever done anything else you couldn't explain?"

Harry paused, thinking with his brows furrowed and his mouth in a grimace. "I once made my teacher's hair turn blue when I was scared. And I broke Aunt Petunia's vase when I was angry."

"You're a wizard, Harry," he told the boy. "You're magical. And so am I." He added.

"Are you really?" The boy asked.

He put his hand out and wandlessly summoned a book from one of the shelves. Harry yelped in surprise. It made Al smile. He could never imagine what it must have been like, growing up without magic. It had been such a large part of him ever since he was born. And unlike other wizards, unlike most of his family, he didn't take it for granted.

Harry's eyes were filled with wonder. "You can do magic! I can do magic!"

Al contemplated telling Harry exactly who the boy was. It wouldn't hurt. If anything it would make the boy more trusting of him and he wasn't going to keep him in the dark like Dumbledore did. In some ways he _was_ manipulating the boy but if Harry really wanted to stand against him in the future than Al would let him. It would hurt but he wouldn't try to make Harry do things without fully understanding the consequences.

"Yes, Harry, but that's not all."

This caught the boy's attention again. Al would have to do some lying at this point.

"When I moved here I didn't expect to meet you. You see, you're quite famous in the magical world."

The boy looked very confused.

"Six years ago the wizarding world was involved in a war. It was a war of ideals. One side thought that all magic should be free to be appreciated by its users and that the wizarding world should return to the Old Ways. The other side thought that some magic was dangerous and should be illegal to use and that Dark wizards were all evil. There were atrocities- bad things- done by both sides."

Harry was listening with rapt attention. Al had been surprised the first time he had caught the boy's undivided attention like this. He never knew someone so young could be so thirsty for information and be so patient. He never knew _his_ _father's_ eyes could light up with such determination and desire at the thought of knowledge. His father had always been the stereotypical Gryffindor- maybe not so much brash and loud but more noble and impulsive. When Aunt Hermione started on the most interesting topics, his father and his Uncle Ron would always tune out- the light dying from their eyes only to reawaken at the mention of quidditch.

"The leader of the side that wanted free magic- the Dark side, became quite violent towards the end of the war. Perhaps he was frustrated or perhaps he had decided that the only way to get through to the community was through violence-"

In actuality all Voldemort's Horcruxes had probably damaged his sanity and the prophecy caused him to become obsessive and angry.

"On Samhain- Halloween- of 1981 the war ended. _You_ were the cause of that Harry. You ended the war."

 _"_ But _how?_ " Harry intoned fiercely.

"That night the leader of the Dark side, Lord Voldemort, went to your parents house at Godric's Hollow. Your parents were in hiding but they their location had been betrayed by their friend."

Harry looked as furious as a seven-year-old could be at this revelation.

"He killed both your parents before attempting to kill you. But something happened. He fired the Killing Curse at you and instead of killing you the curse- the spell- rebounded off of your forehead and struck him, destroying his body. That night everyone celebrated the Dark Lord's demise and you were declared a hero."

The boy looked confused.

"But I was _one._ How did I defeat someone like that?"

Al chuckled. The boy had more sense than almost the entire British wizarding community.

"I'm not sure," he lied. "I, for one, agree with you. And so do a lot of other wizards in Europe. They think that there must have been some sacrificial magic that protected you. Special magic that your mother put up that would work when she died."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "So my parents didn't die in a car crash… And- and they loved me?"

"I didn't know them but I'm sure they did, very much so."

Al moved back to his chair and they sat in silence for a while. The sun was setting and Harry would have to get home soon. He hoped Vernon wouldn't hurt Harry- if he did then Al would go after the man, he wasn't needed to keep the wards up anyways.

"Aunt Petunia always told me my parents were good for nothing drunks who died in a car crash," Harry mumbled.

"Harry," he said, catching the boy's eye, "Question everything."

He could only hope that the statement wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass later.


	4. Lord Malfoy

By the time Harry was ten Al's alias had already been established around Diagon Alley. He made sure Tom, the barman of The Leaky Cauldron, knew his story well and he chatted with some of the Alley's shopkeepers on a regular basis- especially Mr Blott of Flourish and Blott's. They knew he was quiet but friendly and liked to collect rare books. He ventured into Knockturn Alley for these books, which was frowned upon, but people seemed to overlook it because he appeared relatively harmless. He suppose he had genetics to thank for that- he had inherited his father's youthful, boyish looks.

The shopkeepers of Knockturn Alley were all too happy to sell him their otherwise useless Parseltongue texts and obscure tomes, thinking that they were cheating Al for selling him books that no one understood a lick of. He, of course, understood them all. It was why the Sons of Circe sought him out, after all. And why Sharif took a special interest in him. He had been an Unspeakable, meaning he was intelligent, proficient in Occlumency, and adept at keeping secrets. He had been possibly the only Parselmouth in Europe at the time, well, apart from his father but the man refused to speak the language after the Second War. Al's specialties lay in Runes and ancient languages. It was only later, in the Greenland Base, that he was taught the intricacies of Parselmagic by a Sikh mage. Funnily enough he was taught very little offensive Parselmagic; the language's strongpoints were healing and warding. Half the wards at Hogwarts were put up by Slytherin's Parselmagic.

Al's father had been disturbed when he first brought home a snake when he was four. His mother had been furious and told him never to speak the language again. His father was more reasonable but Al always got the impression that Harry would have preferred it if he couldn't speak the language at all. Before he departed for his first year at Hogwarts his father had told him that he wouldn't mind if Al was Sorted into Slytherin. He had said that Severus Snape was in Slytherin and he was the bravest man he knew. But Al could see the hesitation in his father's eyes and he just knew that when he was Sorted into Ravenclaw his parents had breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't a problem for his sister, Lily. She was Sorted into Slytherin and his father was proud but Al supposed it was because Lily had always been vocal about her opinions of things. Al was silent: truly an oddity in the large, wild, and boisterous Potter-Weasley clan.

.

Al was perusing the shelves in Borgin and Burkes when he came across someone he'd never thought he'd see.

"Interesting selection of books," A smooth voice said over his shoulder.

He turned to find Lucius Malfoy standing proud and regal in all his pureblood glory. He had never seen the man in person before. Lucius had died before Scorpius entered Hogwarts and the man had been a recluse after the Second Wizarding War.

"Lord Malfoy," he inclined his head. The blond-haired man's lips twitched, almost as if he wanted to smirk.

"I'm a collector," He explained, looking down at the books in his arms.

"Oh?" Malfoy questioned with an eyebrow raised. "Can you read any of them?"

"I can read all of them, yes." He answered.

He observed Malfoy's features. Scorpius didn't look much like the man, apart from the colouring. Lucius Malfoy's features were strong, imposing, and classically handsome whereas Scorpius' had been slightly more delicate but no less aristocratic.

"Impressive, Mr…?"

"Porter. Albin Porter," Al answered. Malfoy's face went blank. He could almost see the man's brain whirling to recall whether Porter was a pureblood name or not.

"Of the Winchester Porters?" Malfoy asked.

"Perhaps," he answered vaguely. He wanted to laugh. He had no idea that there were purebloods by the name of Porter. It was a very common muggle name as well. "It was the name of my adopted father. He didn't speak much about his family so I wouldn't know."

Malfoy grew thoughtful again. Albin was a common wizarding name in Scandinavia and other parts of Eastern Europe. The man would probably assume he was at least a half-blood, especially if he wanted to continue conversing with him.

"Well, Mr. Porter," the name rolled off his tongue carefully, "Do you know any other languages?"

"I do." He was fluent in sixteen languages, including English. He told the man this.

Malfoy hummed appreciatively. "Would you happen to be able to read Ancient Greek?"

Al said he could. He wondered what Malfoy was getting at.

"I'm in need of a translator," He said finally. "I've been gifted an interesting looking scroll that I believe is from the Library of Alexandria. I was suppose to have a translator come by but I am afraid he has been caught up with business in Cairo."

Al thought about the proposition. It was a strange one. There were plenty of other scholars who would be able to translate a text from Ancient Greek to English- it was a very common language to learn in the wizarding world, second to only Latin when it came to ancient languages.

"I would be sure to pay you handsomely," Malfoy added, looking nonchalant.

"Of course, Lord Malfoy," he answered finally. "I would delighted to help you translate the text."

"Indeed," the man drawled. "Expect my owl in two days time. Good-day, Mr. Porter."

"Lord Malfoy," he acknowledged.

.

The letter came two days later while Al was minding the shop. The owl swooped through the open door and perched on the arm of the chair Al was seated at.

"Who's that from?" Harry asked, looking up from _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_.

The boy had been coming almost every day from opening to closing since school had ended for the summer. Al had been giving the boy wizarding books to read for the last three years.

"Lord Malfoy," he answered, taking the letter and prying it open.

"That's one of the main families in _Nature's Nobility,_ " Harry said, reaching over to pet the owl.

"It is."

Harry waited for him to continue.

"He wants me to translate a text from Ancient Greek to English," Al said finally.

Harry frowned. "Why you?"

"I'm not entirely sure," he answered. "But he said he would pay me well."

"Sounds fishy," the boy commented.

He laughed. "Indeed it does," he said drily. "If I don't come back, alert the aurors."

Harry frowned harder. "That's not funny."

Al shrugged in reply. It was suspicious. The aristocrat was accepting him into his home with no questions asked. Not even an inquiry into his NEWT scores- not that there were NEWTs on Ancient Languages now, though there use to be. He had found out when he re-took his NEWTs four years ago. But Al was curious. And he doubted that Malfoy would do anything to harm him. He sent his response back, telling the man he'd be there tomorrow.

"I'll have to floo in from The Leaky Cauldron," he thought aloud.

"Can I come?" Harry asked. "You can leave me there and I can explore Diagon Alley."

He resisted the urge to frown. This had been going on for two years now. Harry desperately wanted to see the wizarding world and Al had run out of excuses to give him.

"I can't leave you there alone," he said slowly.

"That's an excuse and you and I both know it. I'd be fine," Harry argued.

"You'll get mobbed-"

"You didn't know who I was when you first met me!"

They stared at each other.

 _Would it really be so bad if I took him to Diagon Alley?_

He didn't want Dumbledore to find out. The Figg squib was already suspicious of him. She often came by to see what Harry was doing in the bookshop. Al had glamoured all Harry's wizarding books to look like ordinary muggle novels so all she discovered was a boy who had found refuge in a bookstore and a friendly clerk who appeared to be a muggle. There might be questions raised later when Harry spoke of him at Hogwarts- he'd have to have an alibi about why he was living in a muggle neighbourhood. Perhaps he could implant some memories into his employer's mind- make it seem like she was a relative of his adopted father. Yes, that could work.

" _Al,_ " Harry implored.

Al snapped out of his thoughts. "The day after tomorrow."

Harry's eyes lit up. "Really?"

He sighed and nodded in confirmation.


	5. New Blood

A/N: Hello! I don't really say this in any of my fanfics but I really do appreciate the reviews that I get. Thank you to the people who have reviewed so far! :)

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The next day Al flooed in from The Leaky Cauldron to Malfoy Manor. The room he landed in was large and elaborate. The floors were marble, the ceiling was high, and the furniture was probably more expensive than Al's whole flat.

A house elf popped into the room. It was a sad looking thing. Al didn't particularly care for house elves- his father had never thought they needed one and Aunt Hermione would have killed them if they got one, but he was generally against the mistreatment of magical creatures.

"Hello, Misters Porter. Dobby is to be showing you to Master's study," the thing squeaked.

Al's eyes widened a fraction. _So this is Dobby,_ he thought.

He followed the elf out of the parlour and into a long hallway bordered by pictures of stern looking blond haired aristocrats. They climbed up a grand staircase and Al couldn't help thinking that it was a good thing he wore his best robes. The house was too large and too lavish to feel comfortable in anything less than formal. They entered the study, which was more like a miniature library with a wide, heavy desk in front of an enormous floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the Malfoys' beautiful gardens. Lucius Malfoy was standing in front of his desk in fine blue robes.

"Welcome, Mr Porter," he greeted.

"Lord Malfoy," he bowed. It was a traditional greeting. He had been taught it by Aunt Andromeda after he expressed an interest in learning wizarding customs.

"Please, have a seat," he motioned to the comfortable looking chair in front of the desk.

Al did so and noticed the scroll rolled out on the table. He felt a spark of curiousity ignite. The scroll looked ancient but well-preserved. There was probably some charm- no, runes, a charm would wear with time- to keep it in good condition. He would have to take care not to use magic around it.

Malfoy was hovering over him. He could feel the man's piercing stare on the top of his head. The man smelt like firewood and the sea.

"This is the scroll. I don't expect you to translate it all today. I shall return in three hours to check on your progress. Call Dobby if you need any refreshments."

And with that he was gone. Al pulled the empty notebook and quills towards him and got to work.

Sure enough, three hours later the man returned and offered Al a glass of whiskey.

"How is the translation coming along?" He asked silkily, sitting in the large armchair on the other side of his desk.

"Well, enough," Al replied. "The scroll seems to be a proposal on how to cull and control the non-Greek population of wizards in Alexandria. I'm not sure whether it's from the Library of Alexandria but it very well could be. It dates back to about the late 3rd century BCE. You would be able to get a more accurate date using dating spells but that might interfere with the preservation runes that are keeping the document in good shape- it's best not to try lest you permanently damage the document. I've only translated the introduction and the first paragraph." Al was rambling but he couldn't help it. This text was _exciting._ His academic curiousity had been sparked, there was a reason he ended up being put in Ravenclaw, after all. He hadn't had much of an opportunity to read texts older than the 1st century BCE. Most of the things he had worked with while at the Sons of Circe's bases were from the late Classical era and the Middle Ages.

He looked up to see Malfoy staring at him with an indiscernible expression on his face.

"I must say, Mr. Porter. I wasn't expecting you to be so knowledgeable on dating texts nor on history," Malfoy said.

"It's a hobby of mine, Lord Malfoy," he replied. "I collect texts in ancient languages and translate them into English."

"How fascinating."

There was something about the way Malfoy looked at him that put him on guard. Almost like a _hunger_. Now he had to find out if that look meant what he thought it meant or if he should be on guard for an entirely different reason.

.

It was a warm July day when Harry ventured into Diagon Alley for the first time. Al made sure Harry was under a glamour and had a hat that sat securely on his head. Now all people could see was a small brown haired boy with blue eyes who was out for a stroll with his brother. Al was under a glamour as well. He didn't want to have to go through the trouble of explaining to the shopkeepers he knew who the boy accompanying him was.

They walked down the street, perused the bookstore, and ate ice cream. As an early birthday present Al gifted Harry with a beautiful snowy owl that Harry named Hedwig. Al would keep it at his apartment for Harry to come visit.

All in all it was a good day. Harry was satisfied.

That night Al returned to Diagon Alley. The Alley was mostly empty, vastly different from the colourful, noisy state it was in that afternoon. He pulled his hood around his face and ducked into Knockturn Alley. Anonymity was just a precaution every wizard used when venturing into the darker street.

Knockturn Alley came alive at night. The once desolate streets were now vibrant and teeming with movement. There were stores that only opened when the sun fell and vendors had set up their stalls on the side of the walkway, making it impossible to squeeze past without brushing elbows with other figures.

He walked past the tattoo parlour and turned down a short series of steps that led to a heavy wooden door. On the door was an elaborate image of a white wyvern.

The atmosphere inside the pub resembled that of The Leaky Cauldron's on a busy day. The obvious difference was that The White Wyvern catered to customers that sat on the fringes of society. There were hags sliding along the stone walls, werewolfs enjoying a beer at the bar, and vampires surveying the crowd with sated expressions.

Al made his way to the booth in the far corner. Seated in the booth was a tall, beautiful dark haired vampire who was whispering into the ear of a dazed werewolf- or what Al assumed to be a werewolf from the amber tinge to the man's irises.

"Albin!" The vampire exclaimed upon seeing him.

She turned back to the werewolf, kissed him on the cheek, then pushed him out of the booth. The man stumbled towards the bar.

The vampire smiled impishly at Al, her cheeks dimpling. She threw her arms out.

"It's been so long! How I've missed you," she crooned. "Come, sit."

Al slid into the booth. "It's nice to see you too, Constance," he said, kissing her on the cheek. "I thought you didn't like the taste of werewolves?"

She screwed up her nose and pushed her dark curls over her shoulder.

"I don't. They taste awful. He was my bed warmer for the night but now that you're here I don't need him, do I?" She slid a pale, slender hand up his arm and looked at him through heavy lidded violet eyes. Her eyes flickered briefly to the small area of exposed neck near his robe collar.

"I don't think you'd find me any fun," Al replied, smiling.

She pouted. "I suppose not. Such a shame. You're a beautiful thing."

He let her slide his hood back and thread her fingers through his hair. Her other hand lifted her drink to her lips. Al had learnt that it was best just to act docile and let Constance manhandle him. She could go from fluttering her eyelashes to holding a knife at his throat in less than a second if angered. And Al was nowhere near skilled enough to face off against a vampire of her caliber if she decided that she wanted to snap his neck.

"So why have you ventured into my domain? You usually don't approach me first unless it's business."

"What do you have on Lucius Malfoy?" He asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "That's a big target, Albin."

"It's nothing like that," Al replied. "The man seems… unusually interested in me. I was just wondering if this was a common occurrence or if I should be worried."

Constance tilted her head back and let out a laugh.

"Oh my, Lucius Malfoy is interested in you, is he?" She giggled. "Yes, yes you look like his type- fresh out of Hogwarts."

"I'm not-"

"No, but you certainly look it. The whispers have been telling me that the esteemed Lord Malfoy likes little boys. Not unusual I suppose. There's something about those rich old-family wizards that encourages all sorts of kinks- perhaps a repressed adolescence."

Al hummed and sipped at his own drink that the waiter had brought.

"These are all rumours, of course. Almost none of his supposed victims speak out about their trysts. Personally, I think he just picks the ones that are smart enough to stay silent. Or maybe he pays them off- or Memory Charms them. He's been getting sloppy over the last two years though- one boy caused quite the scandal last year when he started running his mouth about it. I'm not too sure what happened to him."

"So," Al started slowly, "Do you think it's safe?"

She laughed. "Darling, he's a former Death Eater and one of the richest, most powerful men in Britain- of course he isn't _safe._ But find assurance in the knowledge that you probably mean very little to him. He'll have you for a couple months at most and then get bored. Make the most of it- he's been known to send gifts on occasion."


	6. The Alexandrian Curse

The second visit to Malfoy Manor went very much like the first. Malfoy left him to work for three hours and then returned for a chat. The only difference between the first and second meetings was that Al remembered that one of Voldemort's Horcruxes- the diary- had been kept somewhere in Malfoy Manor. There was no chance of Al locating it. He had no idea where to start looking for it in the vast mansion and he was sure Lucius probably had the house elves or the portraits watching him. He would have to be content with just the Gaunt ring in his possession for now.

It was a good thing James had asked so many questions about Harry's adventures. His father had been reluctant to talk about the Horcruxes but James had wheedled it out of him eventually. It was due to the information he remembered from his childhood coupled with his knowledge of warding and parselmagic that allowed him to safely extract the ring from the Gaunt hovel two years ago.

The third visit to the manor yielded fruitful results.

Al found some very Dark magic listed in the scroll. There were spells to kill and control, crude precursors to the Killing and Imperius Curses. There were wards to keep individuals _in._ Which was highly unusual, there weren't many branches of warding dedicated to trapping. Most of them, save for anti-travel and the wards at Azkaban, were highly illegal. There were a variety of different blood magics and curses. All the magic listed in the scroll was useful and fascinating but one curse in particular caught Al's attention. It was a curse that was created to control the population of native Egyptian wizards in Alexandria- a curse that made wizards sterile. Al's mouth went dry as an idea formed in his head. A twisted yet ingenious idea. If he could just… _modify_ the spell. Somehow make it target only muggles. Somehow make it contagious. Create a magical disease that affects solely muggles. An awful, wonderful pandemic. Oh… It would be _perfect._ It would buy so much time. In twenty to thirty years the effect would be obvious. The muggle world would be in panic. Muggle economies and governments would collapse under the strain of an ageing population first, and utter worldwide hysteria later.

Al's mind swirled with possibility and promise. He didn't notice the door open and shut behind him. He didn't notice when Lord Malfoy came to stand behind his chair. When the man cleared his throat, Al jumped. Lucius chuckled and put his hand on Al's shoulder.

"I apologise for startling you," The blond man said, his voice coloured with amusement.

"It's fine," Al replied quickly. "I was just… absorbed…"

"What is it that caught your interest?" The taller man leaned over and picked up the notebook containing the translated notes on the scroll. His eyes scanned over it, no doubt taking in the unquestionably Dark magic, including various torture techniques.

"This is what has you all excited?" Lucius asked lowly. His face was impassive, with a single eyebrow raised in question, but his grey eyes were fiery- filled with that _hunger._

All of a sudden, Al realised how attractive Lucius was. He _knew_ that the Malfoy man was attractive but he had never really considered him as a sexual being. But now, with his heart pounding at the new prospect for the future and his face no doubt flushed, with Lucius- Scorpius' _grandfather-_ standing over him looking like the picture of perfection, he couldn't help but feel aroused.

"Yes," he managed to answer. "Some of the spells are brilliant and utterly _fascinating._ "

Lucius' mouth moved into a position that was somewhere between a smirk and a genuine smile. The hand on Al's shoulder moved up to caress his cheek.

Al should have been thinking things through more. He should have considered what it would entail if he responded to Lucius' advances. There was a chance that he wouldn't be invited back to the manner to finish his work on the scroll. But he was too elated and too aroused. _And besides_ , Al's mind reasoned weakly, _Constance said that he usually keeps men around for months- I'll have time to come back and copy the scroll._

Instead of pulling away he leant into the man's hand, his mouth falling slightly open and his eyes half lidded. It was all the permission Lucius needed to grip the back of his head, bend down, and kiss Al hard on the lips.

Later, while Al lay in the bed of one of Malfoy Manor's many guest rooms, as Lucius slept with an arm thrown over Al's waist, he would exhaustedly berate himself for his lack of control and fall into undisturbed sleep.

.

Al was awoken by a mouth on his shoulder. He opened his eyes and blearily remembered where he was. In Malfoy Manor. Having just spent a tiring but immensely pleasurable night with Lucius Malfoy, Head of the House of Malfoy, Scorpius' grandfather.

"My wife and son will be back tomorrow," the man's said gruffly, while nipping at Al's earlobe.

"You have an odd way of saying 'good morning'," Al replied, annoyed.

"Would you rather I kick you out?" Lucius said, equally annoyed by the lack of response.

The man pulled back to meet Al's stare. Lucius' hair was mussed from sleep, there was a light sheen of stubble on his cheeks, and his mouth was a darker pink that Al remembered. He was hit by a sudden wave of nostalgia. Right there, with the morning light softening the strong lines of Lucius' face, he looked like _Scorpius._ Al swallowed uncomfortably. He pulled Lucius down into a kiss.

An hour and a half later, the two men were still in bed. Al was even more annoyed than before but this time at himself. He was twenty six years old for Merlin's sake. He should be able to control his hormones by now, surely. He felt like a teenager. All awkward, wondering how to leave after a one night stand. This is why he tried to leave before the other party awoke.

"I feel like a teenager." Al said out loud, cringing as he did so.

"You certainly look no older than one." Lucius mumbled. Al never thought he'd see a Malfoy _mumble._

"I'm twenty six," he retorted.

"I believed you to be younger. Though I suppose I did suspect you were most likely in your mid twenties."

Al sighed and got up. He began slipping his clothes back on.

"Shall I finish the translation? Or is that unnecessary?" He asked.

"How little you think of me," Lucius replied, propping himself up on his elbows and watching Al. "I'd like you to finish the translation. Monday at 3 o'clock."

"Your wife?"

"Taking Draco on a play date."

He nodded. His eyes strayed to Lucius' forearm. There he found the faded but still visible Death Eater tattoo.

"Good day, Lord Malfoy," he said as he walked out of the room.

"Good day, Mr. Porter."

.

That night Al sat in his at the kitchen table of his tiny apartment. He stared down at the notebook in front of him. It was full of his most recent plans- warded with blood and written in Parseltongue. There was a row of identical books sitting on the bookshelf behind him.

Al stretched and leaned back in his chair. He glanced around his apartment- at the faded, peeling wallpaper and scuffed wooden floorboards. Perhaps it was time he got a new place.

He had already wrapped up loose ends here. The bookshop owner- a plump middle-aged woman, who went by the name of Mrs. McKinley, had her memories altered accordingly. Al couldn't craft entirely new memories out of nothing but he had rummaged through her house and found pictures of a distant cousin who would now be known to her as Benjamin Porter. From there he just obliviated some other memories and used a couple other memory charms to clean things up. His story probably wouldn't hold up against intense scrutiny but he would do his best to make sure that no one looked too much into his life in Little Whinging.

The sound of the sink dripping cut through the silence. An uncomfortable but familiar feeling rose in Al's chest; he was _lonely._ It was the same feeling he had been experiencing at odd intervals for the last four years. He was intimately aware of the exact clenching and sinking that the feeling produced in his chest- he had experienced it in _waves_ when he joined the Sons of Circe, especially when he had lay in his bunk at the Greenland Base for the first time.

He supposed it was currently prompted due to the night he spent his Lucius. Hearing someone breathing beside him was a welcome change from the usual silence that pervaded his apartment.

He was used to noise. Even though he was the quiet one he _liked_ noise. He grew up in a household that sounded with laughter and commotion from morning to evening. He roomed in a dorm with three other snoring teenage boys. Hell, even at the Greenland Base he had been surrounded by people scurrying about, his superiors shouting orders, and the moans of the injured. Al was unused to silence and was very unused to being alone- even after four years of it.

He laughed. This was pathetic. _He_ was pathetic. A twenty-six year old researcher and soldier sitting in his empty apartment with a ten year old as his only true friend. He still pined over his first love and high school boyfriend for Merlin's sake! Al growled and roughly ran his fingers through his short hair. There was no time to feel sorry for himself. He had a goal to accomplish. He had dedicated his life to something- to a goal, a vision of an undamaged future- and he would be damned if he didn't see it through.


	7. Second Bedroom

A/N: Thank you to Scarlett Woman for pointing out that I used Harry's name instead of Al's in the last chapter! I have a couple fanfics I'm writing where Harry is the main character so I tend to slip up sometimes. I apologise for any bad grammar or spelling errors that might be in my work- sometimes I get lazy :P Thanks for reading!

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.

"Harry, we need to talk," Al told the boy. The summer holidays were nearing its close and Harry was lounging on the floor behind the front counter, snacking on some sandwiches.

"Are you breaking up with me?" Harry replied seriously.

Al stared at the boy. "Who are you learning these things from?"

The boy grinned. "You and Ed, probably."

Ed was one of the friends Harry had made at school after Dudley and his gang started leaving the boy alone. That had been the product of a stern conversation Al had with Vernon two years ago when Harry came to the shop with a bruise on the side of his face. Well, a stern conversation and a private threat for Vernon's fat son.

"No, listen," Al continued. "I'm moving."

The grin slid off Harry's face. "What do you mean your moving?"

"I mean," he said, slowly and carefully, watching as Harry's expression grew more despondent. "I'm moving into London. I've found a place north of Camden Town."

"You can't move," Harry said quietly.

Al's chest felt heavy. "Harry, you'll be able to visit."

"But it's not the same, is it?"

Al inwardly winced. It was true, there was a boundary that Al was hesitant to cross. A lot of questions might be raised if anyone found out that he, a twenty-six year old man, was spending a very large amount of time alone with a ten-year-old with supposedly no relation to him. On top of that- the boy was "The Boy-Who-Lived" and that brought on its own batch of problems. Though Al might just be able to play it like he decided it would be negligent not to act on his concerns and that he had grown attached to the boy after awhile- which was, in all honesty, true.

"We won't be able to see each other everyday," the boy continued.

"You'll be going to Hogwarts in a year's time anyways," Al countered weakly.

"Then why can't you move in a year," Harry mumbled.

Al wanted to but he thought it would look too suspicious to move out when the boy was no longer spending the majority of his time at the Dursleys. It would be better if he moved out now and got a job in the wizarding world- perhaps in a bookstore in Knockturn Alley so he could make connections and start laying some foundations for an information network.

"I wish I could come live with you," Harry whispered.

The boy was searching Al's face for something. Al smiled.

"I wish you could too. Maybe when you're older. Right now, I don't think that's going to happen."

Harry shrugged.

"But if you ever need help, or you're ever in trouble, you can come stay with me."

The boy nodded reluctantly.

"Hey," Al continued, "Your relatives are going to the dog woman's this weekend, aren't they? Why don't you convince them to drop you off at my place and then help me move in?"

Harry's immediately brightened at the idea. The Dursleys were going to leave the boy with Mrs. Figg for the weekend while they visited Vernon's sister but Harry would probably be able to lie convincingly enough for them to drop him off at a "friend's house" in London.

.

That weekend Al met with Harry at Kings Cross Station where the Dursleys had dropped him off. They made the half an hour walk to Al's new townhouse and passed through Camden Town on the way. Harry had never been to London before and Camden Town was certainly a far cry from the pristine front lawns of Little Whinging. The boy stared shamelessly at the punks loitering the streets and the odd, colourful stores that sat on the side of the road. He peppered Al with questions about London and about the magic theory book he had been reading, and chattered animatedly about what adventures he had planned for him and Ed once they met up next.

Al's narrow townhouse stood in one of the quieter streets about fifteen minutes north of Camden Town. Its façade was made out of white plaster and brown bricks. It stood three stories tall and had a basement underneath. He swung open the small wrought iron fence and walked up to unlock the bright red door. He made his way into the kitchen to make lunch while Harry explored the interior.

The ground floor housed the kitchen, dining area and living room. The first floor held a bathroom and a large study, and the top floor held two bedrooms and another bathroom.

The goblins had helped him find it and Al had snapped it up at a bargain after the last witch who lived in it put the house up for sale, uncaring as to what the offering price would be. Admittedly, the place did have a nasty boggart infestation in the basement but it was nothing he couldn't handle. He had gotten rid of the worst of it by the time Harry came to visit. There wasn't a lot of unpacking to be done either- just a couple boxes of books and potions equipment.

It was fully furnished. The selling points for him were the bookshelf-lined study, and the basement that was large enough to accommodate a potions lab.

Once lunch was ready Al went up to find Harry in the smaller bedroom on the top floor. There was very little inside it, just a single bed, some shelves, and a chest of drawers.

"This is your bedroom- and I say that in the permanent sense. It'll be yours whenever you visit, not just a guest room," Al told Harry.

The boy sat his backpack on the bed and looked around the room with a strange emotion across his face. It looked to be a mixture of longing and wonder.

He observed the boy quietly.

"They didn't give me a room 'til you talked to Uncle Vernon, you know," Harry said finally.

Al frowned. "What do you mean?"

Harry shrugged. "I slept in the cupboard under the stairs."

Al's face went blank. He wasn't usually one to anger quickly. In fact, he'd say that was one of the major things that set him apart from his family. They were all hot-headed and he was the exact opposite. When he got angry it wasn't all at once or with fire running through his veins. It was ice- a chill that set in slowly and wouldn't go away until it was addressed. Al's anger demanded vengeance.

He had no idea that the muggles would stoop so low. But he should have suspected it. The boy was emotionally starved and even physically starved on occasion- they treated him like scum. Al could see it clearly in the way Harry latched on to him. Harry craved approval and acceptance and it took years for Al to slowly coax the boy to believe that being selfish- looking out for his own needs- was ok. And that being inquisitive and aspiring were traits that Harry should nurture.

To think Harry would have probably slept in a _cupboard_ until he was eleven. Friendless and either despised or ignored by everyone he knew. It was a wonder that his father had turned out sane in his previous time. If Al were in Harry's position he probably would have developed an antisocial disorder involving severe anger issues.

"You can decorate it however you want," Al said finally, realizing he had kept a little too quiet for a little too long.

Harry smiled.


	8. Beginning to Train

The next day Al brought Harry sight-seeing around London. They took the tube to Hyde Park in the morning and ate their packed breakfasts' while they ambled around the grounds. They spent the better part of the day in the Natural History Museum. If it weren't for Harry's very obvious glee at the museum's exhibits, Al would have almost regretted taking him there. The boy had spent close to the entirety of their visit trying to convince Al to transfigure a life-size stegosaurus skeleton to decorate the tiny area in front of their townhouse.

They finished off the day by having ice cream on Westminster Bridge. Harry had only ever seen Big Ben in photos or on the telly and had told Al that he wanted to see "London's most iconic sight" at least once.

"You should probably start learning to use your magic soon, and perhaps you should start on some of your school subjects," Al told Harry absentmindedly as they both watched the sun set over the Palace of Westminster.

Harry grinned. "Really? Finally! Can I get my wand?"

Al laughed. "No, not yet. You can't get your wand 'til you're eleven."

"Then what will I be doing?"

"We could do some wandless magic exercises that children at Mahoutokoro School of Magic in Japan do. They start pretty early there. Kids learn how to meditate to access and feel their magic at nine." Al replied. He recalled the Chinese woman he had roomed with briefly in the Greenland Base. She had been unusually fascinated by his cherry wood and dragon heartstring wand and later explained that she had attended Mahoutokoro where cherry wands were prized due to their selective nature and power. He had chatted to her about her school and discovered that many people in Asia treated their magic differently to those in Europe. They believed their magic was a sacred gift bestowed on them and should be appreciated and respected. He never once saw her use her wand to clean clothes or levitate plates or do any menial tasks at all. It was a sentiment that he came to respect and even adopt once he saw that many people at the Base felt the same way about magic.

"If we don't need wands to do magic then why do we bother with them?" Harry asked.

Al gave Harry a pointed look. "You already know the answer to that question. You've finished reading _Magical Theory_ , haven't you?"

Harry flushed. "Yes but there was only a small chapter on wands!"

"Well tell me why you think we use wands and I'll tell you what I know after." Al finished off his ice cream and handed a napkin to Harry, who had somehow managed to get ice cream on his cheek.

"Because it makes things easier?" Harry said, wiping his face.

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Because it acts as an amplifier for our magic and therefore makes casting spells easier," Harry said more resolutely. "And… because wandless magic is hard?"

Al smiled as Harry's brows furrowed in thought.

"I suppose that's partially true. A lot of people would find wandless magic difficult but almost everyone has the potential to do it. Young children do it all the time- accidental magic. It's more a matter of how connected you are with your magic. When wizards and witches are young and get emotional their magic reacts as an extension of themselves, whether to defend them or bend to a particularly fierce desire for something. It is at that point that they are the most connected to their magic because their magical cores haven't stabilized and their magic runs freely and wildly throughout their bodies. When we get older we're made to believe that we _need_ wands to do magic. Because, with wands, magic is more easily and far more safely directed. We start to believe that magic is near impossible without a wand when really, all it involves is a lot of focus and a deep understanding of one's own magic. Once those objectives are fulfilled you can perform magic just as you did as a child only it won't be _accidental._ " Of course, Al didn't mention that the other way to unleash wandless magic was to use enough Dark magic without mental preparation to achieve a state of absolute wild, emotional magic- effectively destablising one's own core entirely. He should know, he had almost crippled himself by doing exactly just that.

Harry pursed his lips. His eyes were narrowed on Al as he thought furiously. If he was older, Al thought with amusement, his scrutiny might have been intimidating.

"So…" Harry thought slowly, "It's our education system's fault for more wizards not being able to do wandless magic?"

They were walking back to the train station now. The sun had fallen over the horizon and the streets were bathed in yellow-white artificial light.

"You could say that," Al answered. "But I don't think it was done intentionally- well, not initially anyways. The generally accepted line of thought in most of Europe is: the more you use your magic the more connected you'll be with it. That's not exactly untrue and is the more convenient way of going about it, but it's not the fastest. The fastest and most effective way of connecting with your magic isn't the easiest. It involves a lot of effort- a lot of meditation, control, and reflection."

They pushed into the crowded train and Al discreetly cast a privacy spell around them. Harry watched attentively. The spell was particularly handy to not seem suspicious- it made those around them recognise that Al and Harry were speaking in some sort of language but not know exactly what that language was. It was one of Al's go-to spells.

"If that's the case, why don't more wizards just do that? Meditate to do wandless magic?" Harry questioned.

"Not many people know about it," Al shrugged. "It used to be a pretty common thing in Europe before the tenth century but now it's only practiced in Asia and some parts of South America and Africa. When you go to Hogwarts you'll realise that the British wizarding community is very isolated. Almost all of the spells you'll learn will have been created by European wizards, along with most of the books you'll have as set reading. And they'll be British more often than not. I guess you could argue that it's just due to the issue of translation but that's a weak argument."

"That sucks," Harry commented. "I thought that magical studies book by that Argentinian wizard you got me to read was really interesting- Hey! You'll keep giving me books like that when I go to Hogwarts won't you?" The boy exclaimed excitedly. "Then I'll learn about magic in other countries as well! And back to what you said about teaching me- what're we going to be doing?"

Al hummed. "We'll start you on meditation and potions theory tomorrow. And there are plenty of books by foreign wizards in Hogwarts library- I just said you wouldn't have them on your reading list. But yes, I'll give you your own reading list with books I recommend."

Harry beamed. "I'm going to learn everything about magic! I want to be the best in my year. And I'll definitely have a head start if I learn _wandless_ magic!"

Al returned his smile. Harry would be the best if Al could help it. He would have to be- Harry's involvement or lack of involvement would be pivotal to the future of wizarding Britain. And Al wasn't going to let him be unprepared.

.

That night Al entered Harry's room after dinner to see if the boy wanted to start on meditation early and found the boy splayed across the bed with his face pressed into a book. Al grinned, Lily had the same face when she slept. And as he had once done with Lily, he put the book away and tucked the child under the covers.

On his way out he spotted a black spiral notebook on top of the drawers. It was part of a set of stationery he had gotten Harry for Christmas one year. It looked well-worn but still miraculously held together. Written carefully on the cover of the notebook in gold marker were the words " _Question Everything_ ".


	9. Roadblock and Complications

"I love what you've done with the place!"

Al finished wiping dust off a bookshelf and turned towards the "customer".

"Hello, Constance," he smiled. "How've you been?"

She grinned, her sharp teeth glinted in the light.

 _"Fantastic,"_ she replied in French. _"I've been in Marseille with the most charming young Portuguese wizard!"_

 _"You sound like you've been busy,"_ Al replied.

 _"I'm making the most of the last years of my youth! You're only 179 once, you know."_

She slid gracefully into an armchair, smoothing down her long dark skirt. She plucked a book from the shelf behind her and begun reading.

"Are you going to buy anything today or are you just going to read?" Al asked drily.

"Don't be like that, my love," Constance answered, her eyes still trained on the book in her hands.

"I _do_ have a business to run, you know," Al sighed.

It had been two months since Harry's first visit to Al's townhouse and a month since Al bought the bookstore. He hadn't been planning on it. He had walked into Moribund's Books to inquire about a job as a clerk and walked out with the deed to the property in his hands. The cranky, ancient wizard who owned the place had told Al he was closing up shop. And, on a whim, Al had offered to buy the place from him. The only condition the owner had was that the shop kept his name.

It was a small building sandwiched between a furniture store- The Spiny Serpent, and another shop that looked as if it was always closed. When Al had first bought the place it was dusty and dark with the unpleasant smell of mould adding to the stifling atmosphere. In a few short weeks he had transformed it into a much more respectable establishment- or, as respectable as it could be considering it was in Knockturn Alley. The windows had been thoroughly cleaned to allow light in and the interior had been scrubbed from floor to ceiling. What emerged from the rotting wooden room through generous use of transfiguration were dark wooden floorboards with matching floor to ceiling bookcases. A Persian rug lay in the centre of the front room and green and gold lamps hung from the ceiling. Two armchairs and a small, round end table were situated in the front corner. A gold, glass, and wood counter sat at the back of the room. In the display an enormous book was open to a detailed illustration of a 17th century world map. To the left of the counter was a narrow walkway to the back room, which was slightly larger and messier than the front room. The back room contained an overabundance of books that spilled over the bookshelves and tables. The room also held the fireplace for floo travel. Al was immensely pleased with the result.

Most of his business so far had come from collectors who were fed up with the lack of initiative and poor service skills of Knockturn Alley's two other bookstores. They didn't offer to seek out books as Al did. Although, he supposed they didn't really have any incentive to. When Al searched for books he made contacts with wizards in foreign countries- intent on establishing a relationship that would benefit both his business and himself. The search for Sharif had begun.

Research and experimentation with the Alexandrian Sterility Curse was going poorly. He had offered to write out a full translation for Lucius and had managed to use a duplication quill to copy down the scroll in its entirety. He understood the magic of the curse in every way possible. He had experimented with sedated male and female muggles he had kept briefly in the basement- Harry hadn't been allowed anywhere near the house at the time, Al claimed there was a Chizpurfle infestation. The spell worked perfectly, that much he knew. After furiously researching diagnostic spells and a plethora of rituals to determine fertility he had noted, with grim satisfaction, that the curse resulted in the complete absence of eggs in the women and sperm in the men. He had come across a morbid discovery after keeping tabs on the released experiments for two weeks and arranging appointments with muggle doctors for them, the curse had also resulted in an aggressive form of cancer that wreaked havoc on their reproductive systems. The scroll certainly hadn't mentioned _that._ The creator of the curse had implied that the curse had no side effects whatsoever. But then again, it was meant for wizards and witches, who were immune to many of the diseases that often infected muggles. Magic could overcome a great many things that threatened the body.

This was why he needed Sharif. Al had no idea how to proceed from this point. He didn't know how to isolate the curse's effects to solely muggles, and he didn't know how to make the curse _spread-_ even if he did, he didn't know how to make the muggles last long enough to spread the curse. If they died quickly the muggles would probably identify the problem in no time at all and start isolating the infected. Sterility was not that immediately noticeable- cancer, on the other hand, could be identified much more quickly. Particularly when the cancer seemed to erupt throughout the body- Al had been hidden in the hospital when the inflammation in his female experiment's lungs had started causing her to suffocate.

Sharif would know what to do. The man was a genius. He seemed to be able to formulate a plan in a matter of minutes, and have a contingency plan ready a few seconds after. He was a well of knowledge- the man had spent fifty years travelling the world learning all there was to learn from hundreds of magical communities. Al, in contrast, had spent seven years learning pitiful Disarming charms and transfiguring mice into teapots. Two of those years he delved into Dark magic and found himself swaying on the brink of insanity. And once he had come out sane and victorious he spent the next three years working on Runes and Occlumency. It wasn't until he was twenty that his learning had really picked up. In a short two years he learnt more about magic than he ever had from his professors in his seven years at Hogwarts. And it was over all too suddenly. Now he was learning purely from books and, while they taught him a lot, it wasn't ideal.

Al tugged at his hair angrily as he thought about his ordeal. In eleven months Harry would be starting at Hogwarts and then everything would only escalate from there. Al had spent the last four years planning for Harry's years at Hogwarts and thinking of the best ways to go around the Voldemort threat but somehow he still felt as if he had wasted a lot of time when it came to planning for the inevitable war between wizards and muggles. He had never been the planner- that was Lily's job.

"Albin?" Constance's uncharacteristically soft voice brought him out of his broodings.

He looked up from the countertop he had been glaring at and met her vaguely concerned violet eyes.

"Anything wrong?" She inquired.

"No," he answered. "No, nothing."

Al let out a sigh. It was nice that they had become closer ever since he started spending everyday in Knockturn Alley. He had been woefully lacking for close company since he arrived back in time. Harry was a child and he and Lucius rarely talked about anything personal- although their weekly trysts were excellent for releasing stress.

Constance tilted her head and smiled. "It's almost closing time. Shall we get a drink?"

Al returned her smile and agreed. He had to remind himself to find an outlet for his frustrations and relax. If he didn't, his magic might start getting equally as agitated.

.

The White Wyvern was surprisingly busy for a Wednesday, Al noted as they entered the pub. He ambled over to the bar to get a drink while Constance scared a group of hags out of her usual booth.

Al slid into the booth with the drinks and handed the vampire wine glass filled with blood.

She wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I despise the rubbish they offer here but I'm far too lazy to find myself fresh blood tonight. This will have to do- unless…" Her eyes flickered playfully to Al.

"Not happening," Al replied.

She pouted. "It won't even hurt. I'd be gentle, I promise."

Al laughed. "Why don't you get a thrall?"

"Too complicated," she harrumphed. "I'd have to find someone willing, then go back to my coven to perform the rite… Blood whenever I wanted would be convenient though… but no, no, from one human all the time? That would be _boring._ " She waved her hand dismissively. "Enough. How goes things with you and your Lord Malfoy?"

Al shrugged. "We have sex. It's enjoyable."

"That's it?"

"What did you expect?" He answered, taking a sip from his drink.

"Oh, I don't know," she said flippantly, "A confession of love. He's quite handsome."

"Is that what you think of me?" Al asked, amused. "That I'm going to fall in love with the first attractive figure I come across?"

"That would be more fun."

"I don't have time for that," Al replied. "Besides, I doubt Malfoy would be the one to reciprocate- he has to keep up his image and all."

"It could be a secret affair," Constance said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Isn't it already?" Al answered sardonically.

"Point taken. Do tell me if and when you come across Lady Malfoy- I can't wait for that drama."

Suddenly Constance grew rigid. Al watched as her eyes narrowed and her lip peeled back into a threatening sneer.

"Connie," A gruff voice sounded from over Al's shoulder. "What a pleasant surprise."

Al turned to face a heavily muscled man who towered over his surroundings. The man had very short dirty blond hair and bright amber eyes. A werewolf, Al realised. Scars criss-crossed over the man's bare arms and a few were lining his face.

"Fenrir," Constance greeted stiffly.

Al's froze for a second. _This_ was Fenrir Greyback? He ran his eyes over the man once more. Sure, he was intimidating, but he didn't really look like the horrible monster Uncle Bill had made him out to seem.

Greyback grinned- it looked more sinister than friendly.

"How have you been?" He asked.

"Well," Constance answered.

The man's grin widened. He slid into the seat beside Constance.

"Don't be like that, baby. Is that any way to greet an old friend?" He said in a low voice.

"Get away from me before I claw your eyes out," Constance snarled. Her face had contorted into an ugly sneer, with too much teeth bared and eyes wild and wide.

"Besides," she continued, her face smoothing quickly into her usual beautiful, cheeky visage. "I have a new favourite now. Isn't he cute?" She slid closer to Al in the round booth and hugged his left arm.

Al was getting twitchy from all the tension. He was vaguely annoyed that Constance was getting him involved. Instead of growling at him like Al thought he would do, Greyback let out a loud, booming laugh.

"He's just a scrawny pup!"

"So were you when I first knew you," Constance shot back.

Greyback quietened. He leant towards Constance. Al watched in surprise as the vampire flinched back instead of pulling out her dagger like she usually did with those that got too close without her permission.

"I can see I'm not wanted. And to think I expected a warm welcome back after all these years," Greyback said in an almost-whisper.

His eyes moved to pin Al with a piercing glare. This time he did growl. Al looked away quickly- not wanting to start anything with the wolf.

"I'll see you around, baby," he heard Greyback say to Constance before turning to him, "Watch yourself, pup."

Once Greyback had left Constance let out a dramatic sigh.

Al opened his mouth to say something but she silenced him.

"Don't ask. And don't worry- he won't do anything." She stared morosely at her glass.

Al felt the tiniest stir of worry in his chest. His headache came back in full force. He hoped what Constance had said was true, he really didn't need Europe's most dangerous werewolf after him- not now, not with everything he had to do.


	10. Magical Resolutions

The next few weeks that followed the confrontation with Greyback were bizarre. The werewolf wandered into Al's store regularly, often to trade barbs with Constance that ended with both parties snarling and snapping at each other. Al's nerves frayed as he watched the two beings circle each other in the front room of his shop. The spats always ended with either Constance or Greyback leaving the store. The times when Constance left the store first resulted in Al having to placidly endure a wave of insults from a disgruntled Greyback.

Then, as soon as it started, it stopped. One day Constance and Greyback waltzed into his store and spent the entirety of their visit in lazy silence. Al could swear that the two were even _flirting._ He had gathered that they had been in a relationship before but from both their attitude towards each other he assumed that whatever had happened broke any chance of them being civil towards each other. He was obviously wrong.

When Greyback left his store that day Al turned to Constance with utter confusion written across his face.

She smiled secretively. "You look stressed."

Al groaned and pressed his palms into his eyes. "What was that?" He asked. "You two have been at each other's throats for the last five weeks and today you act like good friends?"

"We've resolved things."

"You've ' _resolved things'?"_

Constance laughed. "We sat down and had a nice, civil conversation with each other and have worked out our differences and forgiven each other for our past transgressions."

"Great Circe, you slept with him didn't you?" Al asked in disbelief. The words 'nice' and 'forgiven' didn't really fit in with Constance's attitude towards dealing with any problem- the phrase 'make-up sex' on the other hand…

She gave a coy one shouldered shrug and grinned unabashedly. "He's a complete puppy once you get to know him."

"I'm sure," Al replied, drily. "The man who turned childr-"

Al found himself seized by the throat. His eyes bulged as he looked at Constance across the counter. She was frowning, an almost sulky look across her face.

"He didn't target them," she told him. "He did bite two children but he didn't do it on purpose- you know they didn't have Wolfsbane back then and he couldn't control his wolf as well as he can now."

Al let out a gasp of air and Constance set him down. She gently caressed his bruised neck as she stared at the wall behind Al, deep in thought.

"I suppose he didn't exactly _deny_ any of the rumours," she continued. "But they made him appear more threatening…"

"So," he wheezed, "What's going to happen now?"

"Oh, he's still going to come by the shop," Constance grinned. "You'll be fine."

Al healed his neck with his wand. Well, at least Constance was back to her usual self.

 _A vampire and a werewolf,_ Al thought shaking his head, _how do I get myself into these messes?_

.

"I can't do it!" Harry huffed and threw his arms up into the air.

Al looked up from the muggle repelling charms he was studying. Harry was seated on the floor of the study beside Al's desk. He had been meditating to access his magic but had been having no luck with the exercises.

Al looked at his watch. "It's only been twenty minutes."

"No, it's been _three months,_ " the boy groaned and flopped back onto the rug. "I can't do it."

"I thought you said you felt something last week?" Al questioned and chuckled when Hedwig seemed to hoot in agreement from the corner of the room.

"I think I might have just felt hungry," the boy mumbled.

"Harry," Al began gently, "It took me a year to even _recognise_ my magic. You'll get it in time"

"A year is so long," Harry complained. "I want to be able to do wandless magic _before_ I go to Hogwarts."

Al hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps we're going about this the wrong way."

Harry sat up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Al continued, "That perhaps sitting down and meditating just doesn't work for you. The breathing and visualisation exercises don't seem to be doing anything either but I know that you have no problems focusing- you could read a difficult, boring book for hours if you were particular interested in learning about the topic. Maybe you need to clear your mind by doing something repetitive."

Harry's brows furrowed. "Like… chores?"

Al blinked. "Yes, I suppose that could work."

The boy smacked his palm to his forehead. "Why didn't _I_ think of that?! I've been spending all this time trying to clear my mind with these methods when I pretty much do it on a regular basis at the Dursleys! I just never thought about my magic when I was washing dishes…" He trailed off and then grinned at Al. "Do you have any cleaning supplies?"

"In the kitchen closet."

Harry jumped up and dashed towards the door. "I'll let you know how it goes!"

Al turned back to his work. He had managed to isolate the "muggle-only" part of muggle repelling charms and he was working on integrating the incantation and wand movement into the Alexandrian Curse. He would be done by the end of the day. Then he would need to do some more tests. A witch and a wizard would be needed this time.

Part of the basement had already been made into cells. They were behind a false wall on the left corner of the potions lab and protected by the most intricate parseltongue wards that Al could think of- he had even created two of the wards himself. Harry wouldn't be stumbling across the dungeons anytime soon. Al still wasn't sure how to feel about teaching the boy potions in a room beside his human experiments… he'd just have to make sure the boy was nowhere near the house when he was working.

The search for Sharif was a disaster. None of his contacts had heard of a man named Wyatt Sharif, not even his contacts in Iraq- and he was sure Sharif had told him that he had studied alchemy in the fabled House of Wisdom in the 80's.

Al had resorted to asking Constance and Greyback for help. Greyback directed him to a Seer who was working in a Divination shop in Knockturn Alley. The old witch needed Sharif's blood to find him but all Al had was his old uniform that he had been wearing when he came through the Time Veil. It had flecks of blood that he assumed to be Sharif's but it was four years old. The witch took it anyways. He had heard no results from her so far.

" _Al!"_

Al was jolted out of his thoughts. He apparated into the kitchen and Harry let out a startled yelp when he appeared.

"Harry? Is everything alright?"

"What?" The boy asked, looking confused. "Of course it's alright, I just felt my magic!"

"Oh," Al flushed. His thoughts had wandered to the war and when Harry had called for him he'd jumped up on instinct.

Harry grinned. "It felt like-like- oh, I don't know. I don't know how to explain it. It was _magical."_

Al watched the boy gesture wildly. Harry's enthusiasm brought a grin a to his face.

"Magical?" Al repeated.

"Yes- you know what I mean. Magical in- in the way muggles mean it."

He nodded. That was a good way to put it. He had never really been able to put the feel of his magic into words. The best he could come up with was that it felt like the feeling of awe or wonder.

"You said it's different for everyone right?" Harry continued, "I was daydreaming when I felt it- not cleaning- I just kind of zoned out on the sound of the kitchen sink dripping and I thought about walking down the path to your old book shop, then I felt it!"

Al slid into a chair at the kitchen table, still smiling.

"It felt like the second time I ever visited your bookshop. Do you remember? It was on a Saturday and the Dursleys wanted me out of the house. I decided to go to your shop but the closer I got the more nervous and excited I felt. You were the first person to ever _really_ be nice to me, you know? And then, when I was standing at the door I felt like my heart was going to explode- I was so nervous- but-but I was _hopeful_ too. When I walked in and you smiled at me I was beyond happy- I can't even call that feeling _happiness._ It was magical- that's the only way to describe it. And that was what my magic felt like."

Al was staring at Harry's bright face, an odd feeling assaulting his chest. He knew he meant a lot to the boy but _Merlin_ he didn't know he meant _that_ much. He didn't want to disappoint the boy. He wanted to protect Harry. But it was impossible. Al was going to slip up sooner or later. The boy would get smarter as he got older and when he learnt of Al's true goals he was going to turn away from him- just as his counterpart did in Al's previous time. It would break his heart.

"So?" Harry questioned as he took a seat in front of Al, eagerly leaning forward on his elbows. "What does your magic feel like?"

Al smiled. "It feels like my first trip without parents."

Harry's whole body grew attentive.

Al told him about the summer before his fifth year with some appropriate modifications. James wanted to do something special with Fred and Louis for the summer before their last year at Hogwarts. All three of them were already of age but Al's parents insisted they take Teddy with them. The trip ended up including Victoire, Dominque and Al as well. They went around Ireland in Teddy's run down van and ended up getting lost somewhere on the west coast. They were all delirious with laughter by the time the van broke down on a long, desolate road. Teddy and James pushed the van to the side and disillusioned it then they both insisted they camp somewhere for the night. They kept walking along the road towards a small cloud-topped mountain and when they turned the bend they were greeted by the sight of the road sloping down to a lake nestled between two hills. Something about the sight made Al pause. He could almost taste the ambient magic in the air and it filled him with wonder and something more- sorrow, maybe? He was just overwhelmed with the knowledge that a place could look as untouched as that valley did.

"What happened to your friends?" Harry asked quietly after Al finished talking.

Al smiled wistfully. "Some of them I grew apart from and a couple of them died before I turned twenty-two."

Harry's expression grew curious but he didn't push the issue.

"Will you take me to that place someday?" Harry asked.

"I will," he replied.

"Brill," Harry mumbled, "I've always wanted to go to America."

He didn't bother correcting Harry's assumption. They sat in silence for a while before Al decided that the atmosphere had grown too serious.

"Alright, time for potions!" He exclaimed, clapping his hands together and standing up from the table.

Harry groaned.


	11. Progression

The Curse didn't work on wizards and it was a small success that filled Al with grim satisfaction. He grimaced down at his notebook. He wasn't sure what to make of the results of the squib trials. The curse worked on the woman and Al didn't know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing. On one hand, most squibs didn't know they were squibs and would probably side with muggles in any confrontation, on the other there would be no more "muggleborns"- no more new blood. And while this wasn't as much a concern in other societies, in Britain the wizarding lines were already so interbred they were at risk of losing their magic. He could save the British wizards from the muggles but he couldn't save them from their own hubris. They would need to interbreed with other magical beings and foreign wizards if they wanted to survive. He didn't know why they were so reluctant (other than the perception of magical beings as "wild creatures with filthy blood"); he had met an Icelandic man who was married to a selkie and she was extraordinarily beautiful. As for foreign wizards, the British wizards were less reluctant to interbreed but still, for whatever mad reason, perceived themselves to be superior to their foreign counterparts. Logic seemed to have fled the British wizarding community altogether.

Al had already Memory Charmed and released the witch, wizard, and squib woman. All that was left in the cells was a muggle man and woman. The altered Curse worked but unfortunately it caused even more health problems than before. He estimated their life expectancy to be two weeks, a whopping four weeks off his previous trials. Why? He had absolutely no idea. Perhaps in modifying the spell to specifically target muggles he had made the curse even _more_ potent to them.

He rubbed the side of his nose. He needed to look through some more Healing books. When he had first started work on the Curse all he had known about Healing was basic anatomy, simple spells from school, and the Parseltongue spells Master Singh had taught him. Although, even with the limited time Singh had to teach him, Al had still ended up among the Base's primary healers and warders.

He leant back in his chair, deep in thought. The stunning spell he used on the muggles would wear off in eight hours, he needed to memory charm them and cast a Compulsion to ensure they wouldn't go to the hospital to get a check up on their failing health. It wouldn't do to have too many questions asked. Hopefully the muggles performing the autopsy would just think that the cancer had spread over the course of a couple years instead of just a fortnight. He had used the muggle diagnostic methods for his first round of experiments because he wasn't confident in his own abilities but now, after an intense crash course on Healing and the more obscure branches of Fertility Rituals, he was confident he could accurately pinpoint what was going on in their bodies.

Maybe he was going about this all wrong? Al furrowed his brows, his frown deepening. He couldn't really halt all reproductive functioning in muggles abruptly and expect everything to be fine and dandy. Maybe he needed to take things slower?

He leant forward onto his desk, picked up his fountain pen, and began furiously scribbling some more modifications.

.

Al watched with a smile as Harry proudly displayed his wandless magic abilities to Fenrir and Constance. The boy was currently on his school break and he had spent the weeks leading up to the Easter holidays pestering Al to take him to his bookstore.

It was the boy's second visit to the shop and, much to Al's fascination, Harry had taken immediately to the vampire and werewolf. Ironically, and for a reason that Al couldn't fathom, Harry seemed especially close to Fenrir.

"And Al says that, at the rate I'm going at, in a few months time I'll be able to do wandless _transfiguration_ , isn't that wicked?" Harry babbled.

The boy had progressed at an alarming rate. It was as if a dam of magic had broken inside of him once he first managed to access it. It certainly surprised Al. His father had never shown any aptitude for wandless magic back in Al's old time. Although that could have just been because the man had never tried it. Harry was much younger too- he adapted to the process more quickly. Al had taken almost a year to even _move_ an object when he was seventeen.

Constance smiled indulgently at Harry, her hands were twitching and Al just knew she wanted to reach out and smother the boy in affection. She had thought that the boy was just the " _cutest, sweetest,_ little thing in the world" and was convinced that Harry was Al's kid. Al let the two make their own assumptions. He was glad that the inhabitants of Knockturn Alley didn't ask too many questions. Fenrir and Constance seemed content to let things slide for now.

"Not bad, pup," Fenrir commented gruffly, "I was always rubbish at transfiguration. Curses and hexes were more my thing."

"Did you go to Hogwarts too?" Harry asked. "What House were you in?"

"Er…" Fenrir started awkwardly. He shared a look with Constance. "I didn't go to Hogwarts, I was… self-taught."

Harry nodded sagely, blissfully unaware of the Fenrir's more animalistic side. "Al's mostly self-taught too- though he says his dad taught him stuff when he was younger."

Al reminded himself to let Harry know that Constance wasn't entirely human and that Fenrir turned into a hulking mass of fur once a month.

Conversation was interrupted when a tapping came from the door. Harry scrambled to let in the crow that was perched on the door handle, a note in its beak. The bird flew over to Al and dropped the note on the counter. He flicked it open and frowned. It was from the Seer he had hired months ago.

 _The potion is ready,_ the note read, _come to The Starry Prophesier and ask for me. Madam Sauer._

"Who is it?" Harry asked while he inspected the crow.

"An acquaintance of mine," Al answered vaguely, "She wants to meet me now."

"I can stay here!" Harry piped.

Al glanced over at Constance and Fenrir cautiously.

"Go ahead, Albin," Constance said, smiling. "We will watch him."

.

He found himself being directed into a dusty room above the Divination shop. The room was dimly lit and covered in a variety of colourful fabrics. Madam Sauer was sitting in the centre of the room. On the table in front of her was a basin filled with shiny, silvery liquid. She gestured to the seat in front of her.

"Let us begin," she croaked once Al was seated.

She placed both her hands on the side of the basin and began a lengthy chant. The liquid swirled and hardened, the surface resembling that of a mirror.

"Look into the mirror and think of the man you seek," Madam Sauer instructed.

Al leant over the basin. It took a few moments but eventually an image began to ripple on the mirror's surface. The edges of the image were blurry but Al could clearly make out Sharif's piercing olive green eyes. The wizard looked to be in his forties and missing a lot of the wrinkles Al remembered him having. He still had his strong brow and severe countenance but his thick copper-brown hair lacked any streaks of grey.

"That's him," Al confirmed finally, unaware that he had been holding his breath.

The Seer closed her eyes and the air in the room grew thick with magic- Dark magic, Al sensed. It licked seductively at his skin and tempted his own magic to join it.

"His name…" The witch rasped. "Waleed Shah."

Al nodded. He had suspected that "Wyatt Sharif" might have been an alias when his contacts had been unable to confirm that the man had been studying in the House of Wisdom.

The pressure of the Dark magic lessened as Madam Sauer removed her hands from the basin. The mirror liquefied. He watched as she began to chant for a second time and once she was finished she picked up the basin, raised it to her lips, and drank the potion. Once she set the basin down her eyes rolled back into her skull. Her mouth moved and she began muttering incoherently. Amongst the gibberish a few syllables stood out to Al with perfect clarity.

"On the da-wn… of the Harvest Mo-nths… Under… the Clock of the Heavens… Death an-d… the Twelve… will point y-ou… to your guide…"

Al strained to hear what the rest of the instructions were but nothing else came. The woman ceased speaking and hung her head.

"That's… it?" Al asked.

She lifted her head and smacked her lips together. "Hm? Oh, yes. I think it is. 500 galleons, please."

He winced. He'd already paid for all the potion ingredients. He had a small fortune accumulated from various bets and the sale of translated copies of rare books but 500 galleons was still a substantial amount. Al paid the woman and left the room with his old uniform in his hands. _Divination,_ he thought with spite, _what an awful, vague branch of magic._


End file.
